


Found Truth In The Dark

by Fox_In_A_Box, randomnickname



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Soul Eater
Genre: AU, Adventure, Crossover, Daemons, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, UST, lots of swearing, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-01-30 18:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12659328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_In_A_Box/pseuds/Fox_In_A_Box, https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomnickname/pseuds/randomnickname
Summary: Justin Law is the Magisterium's most prodigious alethiometrist, until some unsettling discoveries lead him to reconsider his career choices. But following your heart is more easy said than done when one steals the oldest truth-telling device on the planet.Giriko happily serves the renegade witch Arachne, until her untimely death leaves him hunted down by the Magisterium and a scorned witch clan. Turns out, being on the run is nowhere near fun with such almighty, omnipresent pursuers.If this universe sucks, why not try another?Or: On the search for better worlds, Justin's and Giriko's collide.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> Did the world ask for a Girjasu/His Dark Materials crossover? No. Did it need it? We say, hell yeah! For what a better way for an unlikely romance to bloom than dæmons, death threats and relentless chases across the multiverse?  
> We, that's Fox_In_A_Box and randomnickname, two Girijasu enthusiasts working to resurrect the fandom from its ashes and share our trashy ship with the world. Fox_In_A_Box will write Justin's POV, randomnickname Giriko's, with lots of feedback and beta-ing in both directions. Updates as fast as we can write.  
> Feedback (here or on our [respective](https://dont-call-me-algernon.tumblr.com/) [tumblr](https://randomishnickname.tumblr.com)) warms our souls and makes us want to write better and more. Please please pleaaaase tell us what you think!  
> P.S. Both non-native speakers, so feel free to point out weird grammatical constructs or plain errors. 
> 
> Banner by randomnickname (pic sources: [barn owl](https://images7.alphacoders.com/355/355607.jpg), [wolverine](http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/originals/23/9a/5b/239a5b9a3d5033d85aa31b795a5d3757.jpg), [alethiometer](http://www.bridgetothestars.net/images/alethiometer.jpg))

For a great part of his life, Justin Law had been firmly convinced that there was no such thing as "knowing too much". It was ridiculous, he reasoned, to treat knowledge like it was food, or alcohol, or any other thing that you could have an overdose of; after all, there was no evidence of excessive knowledge ever having been harmful to someone.  
"It's a poor excuse for people too ignorant or too stupid - or both - to understand what they are really talking about. People who are afraid to see their little world shatter once their beliefs are questioned," Aristaeus used to say, and he found himself agreeing with him.

They had always been a curious pair, him and his dæmon.

It all had started with innocent questions, asked with the characteristic naivety of every child on this Earth. "Why is my dæmon male?" and "Why can he change his shape whenever he wants, while my parents' dæmons can't?".

And when he did not receive a satisfying answer from the adults he had interrogated, he set off to find the answers on his own, causing the hilarity of librarians and booksellers all over the city, who witnessed the absurd scene of a child no older than eight walk through the door and ask with perfect seriousness for a book about philosophy.  
As he grew up and became more aware of how things worked, the questions that absorbed his thoughts changed accordingly.

"What is a dæmon, after all?" and "What is it this 'Dust' that everyone seems so worried about?"

At seventeen, he started studying ancient languages, philosophy, and theology, anything that would guide him towards a better understanding of not only the world surrounding him but the inner dimension of human beings too, their private relationship with their dæmons and the bond that they had with them.

Eventually, he had joined the Church looking for more answers and, to his astonishment, he had discovered a world he had never even dared to imagine.

One morning, an extraordinary instrument was placed in his hands and as he and his dæmon observed its needles move through a maze of symbols in utter amazement, while the monotonous voice of an old priest explained them what wonders the instrument was capable of, he had instantly known that he wanted, no, he needed to learn how to read it.

It had taken time, and hard work and a countless amount of failures, but his determination never faltered. With Aristaeus perched on his shoulder, whispering words of encouragement in his ear, he had spent hours and hours sitting at his desk, bent over huge volumes detailing the intricate structure of methaphors and meanings hidden beneath what, at a single glance, appeared to be nothing more than beautiful, brightly coloured pictures. It had been like learning to read once again, but nothing could compare to the thrilling feeling of triumph when he finally realized he had become able to navigate through seemingly endless layers of meaning and obtain the desired answer.

He had agreed to put his newly acquired ability at the service of what he believed was justice. He never refused to help when the powers that be asked, not out of fear of possible retaliation, but rather because he was genuinely happy to be of aid in the process of reaching a larger goal. Which did not mean he was too blind to question some of their more controversial methods, but that did not mean he was dissuaded from reporting his findings to his superiors with pride and satisfaction, either.

He did it, he kept repeating to himself, for what he and his dæmon saw as "the greater good".

In private, however, he kept interrogating the instrument about every single issue that stirred his curiosity. One question after the other, shocking truths about Dust, angels, and that unknown being simply called "The Authority" unravelled before his eyes with each small movement of the little black needle beneath the crystal glass of the compass.  
He could feel his dæmon's uneasiness, each time they discovered something that cast a new, extremely interesting light, on what they had believed was an indisputable truth, but he dismissed it as just the reflection of his own excitement, mixed with a good dose of apprehension.

The thought of having taken up a dangerous path had never crossed his mind until, at twenty-two years old, he suddenly found himself on the run from the Magisterium.

  
*

 The innkeeper's squirrel dæmon let out a small frightened squeak when Aristaeus landed on the counter and folded his wings without the slightest noise.

"I said I have no idea what you're talking about!" the man cried. "For the last time, what do you want from me?"

Justin noticed how his eyes kept going back and forth between his face and the silver cross he was wearing, which clearly identified him as a member of the Magisterium. It had been an unbelievably useful tool, able to elicit - depending on people and circumstances - enthusiastic collaboration, begrudging acceptance of his requests or even plain fear from every person he had confronted on his search for informations. And it was not even an outright lie; no one ever bothered to check his credentials and discover that he was actually a former Magisterium affiliate, who was now being hunted down by the very same organization he served until a few months prior.

"We are..." he paused, as if looking for the right words. "Conducting researches. And we discovered that someone in this city is carrying out experiments that could be very harmful to everyone. I'm sure you understand that a good citizen's duty -not to mention a good christian's duty - is to help in any way possible the course of justice."

The man swallowed audibly, but said nothing. His dæmon kept nervously twitching her tail.

"Of course, we have very reliable methods to persuade our informants to tell us what they know," Justin went on. "But it would be much easier for both of us if you shared your informations here and now."

Aristaeus stretched his wings, as if to reinforce the statement.

"Alright, alright!"

The innkeeper lowered his voice and briefly looked around, to make sure no one was overhearing what he was about to reveal. Instinctively, Justin did the same and, to his immense relief, he found that the only costumers of the inn were three blatantly drunk men, sitting at a table near the window at the far end of the room.

"I heard his name is Asura," he finally said.

Justin arched his brow. "Like the ancient Hindu god?"

"What?"

"Nevermind. Please, go on."

The man took a deep breath before doing as he had been told.

"His dæmon is a scorpion. Or at least that's what the rumors say, I've never seen him myself. They say he lives in an old, wretched slum near the docks. And that's all I know."

Before he walked out the door, Justin turned his head and offered the trembling man a bright, polite smile.

"I'll let my superiors know that you've been of great help to our good cause!"

*

"We didn't need to scare him that much, you know," Aristaeus said, as soon as they were back on the streets.

Justin chuckled. "He wouldn't have spilled a word if we had been too gentle, Ari. We had no other choice."

They were walking calmly through the crowd of people hurrying from a place to another, most of them probably returning to their homes after a long day of work. Very few of them spared a single glance to the young man and the barn owl dæmon perched on his shoulder. Only a keen observer would have noticed how alert the bird was, scanning the surroundings in search of any subtle sign that they were being followed or that someone was hiding just around the next corner, ready to jump at them as soon as they let their guards down.

For his part, Justin had learned how to conceal any single sign of agitation that could have betrayed him, deciding instead to completely trust his dæmon's judgment and, more than that, to trust those eyes that easily pierced the shadows of the half-darkness of the evening.

"In a few days time real agents of the Magisterium will be here looking for us. And obviously he will tell them he saw us. And talked to us."

"Hopefully, we will be already too far from them to catch up by then." He sounded more confident than he actually was and altough Aristaeus could clearly feel it, he didn't comment, allowing instead for a slight change of subject.

"So, when are we going to meet our mysterious scorpion-man?" he asked.

"Tomorrow night. But we will ask the alethiometer first."

The dæmon made a brief sound of agreement.

They walked the rest of the way in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

The squirrel gave a shrill squeal as Přísloví sank her fangs in the tinier dæmon's back. The innkeeper gurgled in pain.

"Answer me, you fuckin' bastard," Giriko gritted out, and squeezed the man's throat harder.

The innkeeper coughed, trying to talk, and Giriko loosened his grip. "You - you haven't asked anything yet!" the man said, panicked.

Giriko heard Přísloví snort in derision, and felt a flash of annoyance. Did his dæmon have to be such a smug asshole? "Don't you smart-ass me," he growled at the innkeeper. "You know what I want. Where can I find the world-traveler?"

"The what?"

Giriko hissed in frustration and shook the man like an apple tree. "You know who! The man who went through the fog and came back alive!" he shouted. "Do I look like I've got time to fool around?"

The innkeeper's gaze darted between them, taking in Giriko's harassed features and the clumps of dirt tangled in his dæmon's fur, and the look of grim determination shared by both. His squirrel dæmon shot him an anguished look. "Tell them!" she pleaded, squirming between Přísloví's fangs. The wolverine slowly increased the pressure in her jaws, staring the innkeeper straight in the eye.

The man whimpered in pain, before starting to rattle down informations. "He's called Asura, his dæmon's a scorpion, he lives in a slum by the docks, we don't know anything more, please don't kill us -"

"That all?" Giriko insisted.

"Yes, yes, that's all, that's all, let me go," the man begged.

Giriko released the man's throat and Přísloví spat out the squirrel with a sound of disgust.

"Pwah," she said. "Gross. Let's go, we have what we needed."

They made to leave the grimy backyard, but the innkeeper said something that made them turn. He was curled up against the backdoor of his pub, his dæmon cradled to his chest. "I know who you are," he hatefully snarled. "And I hope the Magisterium's gotta catch you soon, you disgusting, witch-loving traitor to mankind -"

In two steps Giriko was on him, hoisted the man up by his collar and belt and threw him into the big garbage container in a sweeping arc. He banged his fist on the metal, so hard it rattled.

"Let them come!" he roared. "Let them come! You tell those assholes, you tell 'em! If they want me, they'll have to come fetch me in another world!" He banged the container's lid shut andfiercely kicked it for good measure before stomping away, fuming.

Přísloví was on his heels, but didn't talk until they reached a deserted alley. "Idiot," she said.

"What?" Giriko hissed, still shaking with anger.

"You've given him every reasons to go running to the nearest Magisterium outpost as soon as he gets out of that bin, you dick. We're losing precious lead."

"I don't care."

The wolverine bristled. "Maybe I do?!" she exclaimed. "What if they find that Asura guy before us? What we gonna do then?"

"It won't come to that."

"Yeah, you think?" Přísloví snorted. "Who am I kidding, you never do." She put on a ridiculous, mocking voice. "Ooooh, look at me, I'm Giriko! I got mighty big muscles and a witch once told me I was special, ooooh!"

Giriko spun on his heels and glared at his dæmon, fists clenched. "Hey, you shut up, Príška!" he bit out. "You don't get to make fun of that!"

The wolverine glared back for a few seconds, her black eyes narrowed in defiance, but then she ducked her head. "I'm sorry," she grumbled, and slumped down on the dirty pavement, looking defeated. She was silent for a few seconds. "I miss her," she added meekly. "I miss them."

It was rare to see his dæmon so openly vulnerable. Giriko felt a wave of renewed sadness, and sat down at her side, leaning back against a brick wall and wedging his duffel bag behind his knees. He reached out to stroke the thick brown fur, and closed his eyes, the exhaustion of the last days catching up to him. "I miss her, too," he admitted, a thick lump in his throat.

There was a grunt and his arms were suddenly full of thirty pounds of wolverine. Přísloví burrowed her short snout in his neck with a little sound of distress and he held her tight, overwhelmed with grief and self-pity.

"I don't know how to move on," he admitted in a strangled voice, pressing his face into his dæmon's fur. "I still can't believe they are dead."  
Přísloví whined. "We have to, we have to move on, we can't stay here, I don't want us to die -" she babbled.

"Me neither," Giriko whispered. A lone tear rolled down his cheek, and his dæmon licked it away, her tongue raspy and warm. At least they'd always have each other, he thought. United until the end.

They remained like that for a while, breathing in sync, taking comfort in each other's warmth. Then Giriko sniffed, and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"You stink," he said to disparage the tension. "When's the last time you've had a bath?"

Přísloví snorted. "Same as you, dipshit. We've been on the run for what, two weeks?"

"I don't know anymore. Too long."

The first week after Arachne's death, they were able to find shelter in one of her old safehouses in western London; but it had been busted by a Magisterium commando shortly afterward. Giriko and Přísloví had grabbed all the tools and blueprints they could find and made a run for it. With both the Magisterium and a few vengeful witches on their tails, they had needed to delve deep into the London underworld, sleeping in old warehouses and eating what they could find, ready to bolt or fight for their lives every second of every day.

They hadn't lived on the streets like this since the time in Bohemia, back before they met Arachne and she revealed them their true potential. Over ten years ago already. He was barely more than a defiant teenager back then, merely a few years passed since Přísloví settled - his entire adult life he had spent under Arachne's demanding command. And now she was dead. No magpie dæmon would show up at his window with orders anymore. No dark shape in the night sky swooshing down to meet him.

But they had to move on. He stood up, shoving Přísloví down, picked up his bag and began walking towards the busy street he could hear in the distance. His stomach was rumbling.  
They reached the street and melted into the crowd, Giriko slouching to avoid raising attention to his muscular frame, and Přísloví managing not to bare her fangs at every curious dæmon they came across. They passed a selling stand and Giriko deftly nicked a meat pie with the practiced ease of the former pickpocket. He was talented as a teen, almost never got caught, even if fateful experience had taught him not to steal from witches in disguise.

They retreated to a street corner, Přísloví keeping an eye out while Giriko greedily devoured the greasy, warm pastry.

"Giriko," the wolverine suddenly said.

He raised his head, scanning the surroundings to find the danger, but found nothing.

"The blond guy," Přísloví specified. "Barn owl. He's Magisterium, I just saw the cross."

The tall young man was talking to a Gyptian woman selling eels. The woman gestured towards a street, moving her hands in big, fluttering motions as if she was explaining a path. The Magisterium man was nodding, fully focused on her, but his dæmon was regularly surveying the street with bright, sharp eyes.

Giriko and Přísloví carefully retreated to a dark alley.

"Think they're looking for us?" Giriko said once they were in safety, and nervously licked his fingers clean.

"I don't know," his dæmon answered. "But you don't often see them in this part of the city. If it's not for us, maybe it's for Asura."

The idea filled Giriko with dread. At the moment, the world-traveler was their only hope of finding a way out of the Magisterium's and the witches' claws. He wasn't about to allow some prissy Magisterium envoy to fuck that up.

"Let's go now," he impulsively said.

"To the docks? Thought we wanted to steal some traveling gear first," Přísloví argued. "What if he wants to lead us through the fog immediately?"

"What if he's gone if we wait too long? We're lucky enough to know where he is now," Giriko countered. "That sleazy bastard is like an urban legend, I don't want to waste that chance."

The wolverine huffed, and playfully bit his ankle. "Too impatient, as always."

He nudged at her with his boot. "You're one to talk, fuckwit."

"True." She looked up at him, a thoughtful look in her black eyes. "You're sure we can pull this off? Running off to another world?"

He gave her a helpless shrug. "Where d'you want us to go? High Brazil? Beringland? The Magisterium is everywhere, Príška. They'll find us, sooner or later."

Přísloví groaned, but didn't argue. Giriko went on. "And if not them, it's gonna be the witches of the Gorgon Clan. They've sworn an oath of revenge against us and all of Arachne's allies, remember? They'll never give up, and they live hundreds of years. D'you want us to hide in a cave?"

"I don't know," the wolverine hissed. "But we have no idea what it's gonna be like elsewhere. It's kind of a crazy plan, Giriko."

He shot her a tired smile. "Hey, we're the kings of crazy anyway, aren't we? We're gonna make it."

She laughed, and stretched her nimble back. "Let's go at sundown."


	3. Chapter 3

_ An unexpected companion will join your quest. _

That's what the alethiometer said, thin black needle pausing in turns on the Lightning Bolt, the Wild Man and, finally, the Dolphin.  

"It doesn't sound that reassuring, does it?" Aristaeus remarked, ruffling his white and golden feathers and offering him the closest thing a bird could do to a preoccupied look. Justin nervously drummed his fingers on the surface of the small desk. Needless to say, he would have preferred to recieve a more comforting answer than that vague, unsettling sentence.

The Lightning was a metaphor for an unexpected strike of luck and they definitely needed that, but he couldn't bring himself to be entirely optimistic. Symbols were, as he had learned from his personal experience, sometimes decieving and could very well mean the opposite of what they appeared to say at first glance. Could it have been trying to warn him of an upcoming stroke of bad luck, instead?

The Dolphin was hardly more encouraging. One of its core meanings was "friend, ally" and even though he knew it could have been useful to have someone by his side, he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy at the thought of having another person accompanying him in his dangerous, reckless journey. Not to mention how he never particularly liked having to put up with other people's antics, always preferring to work alone, no matter the difficulty of the task.

The Wild Man was the more puzzling of all three symbols. No matter how much he focused, how much he tried to remember the various layers of significance hidden beneath that small figure, he wasn't able to find a single meaning that cast a new light to the instrument's message.

Could it be the alethiometer's way of telling him his new companion was male? Could it be referring to Asura, the world-traveller himself?

While he was still pondering, his dæmon voiced his concerns: "Think we should try it anyway?"

Justin was hesitant at first, but as he remembered the way the Magisterium treated its oppositors and the constant fear of being caught which had oppressed them since the day they had decided to flee, he sighed.

"I'm afraid we don't have much choice."

*

It was cold when they finally decided to leave their improvised shelter, a tiny room on the second floor of an old, dusty inn they had chosen purposefully after noticing the absence of any other customer.

Autumn had just arrived in London and yet everything was already shrouded in a thin layer of grey haze, ice-cold gusts of wind sweeping through the streets and forcing passers-by to shiver in their heavy clothes. Justin adjusted the collar of his black coat and looked around; his dæmon flew in a wide circle over his head, surveying their way from above, before coming down to rest on his shoulder.

The recent arrival of a large group of Gyptians had attracted a huge crowd of people, filling the streets with animated chatter and the shouts of salesmen trying to attract the attention of potential customers. They zig-zagged down the main road, doing their best to keep their eyes open and never stopping for too long in the same place, in case someone had spotted them. One could never be too careful. 

When they reached the marketplace, not too far from the docks, they started approaching various different people, in the hopes that at least one of them could be able to give them reliable directions to their destination.

A young, scruffy boy with his still unsettled dæmon who agreed to tell them what he claimed were facts but sounded closer to imaginative urban legends in exchange for a few pennies; an old sailor and his wife busy mending fishing nets, who were oh so sorry to admit that they didn't know the place he was talking about; a couple of very tipsy university students who were all too happy to share the few, confusing things they knew and even offered Justin a drink, which he politely declined.

Despite the foul weather, the joyous atmosphere seemed to have sensibly affected the entire city; not a single person spared a glance to his cross pendant, none of the people he talked to gave signs of reticence or even wariness. 

It was somehow relieving not having to retort to intimidation, for a change, expecially after their rather unplesant confrontation with the innkeeper the night before. It was unlikely that the man had already realized that the person who had threatened him was not actually sent by the Magisterium, but they had decided to stay far off the greasy pub anyway.

Eventually, they noticed a middle-aged Gyptian woman selling roasted eels on the small wooden counter of her stand. Luck was on their side this time, as the woman in question proved to be very eager to help them out and not at all disturbed by their inquiries. She began a long and excited monologue about how much she loved the sole idea of visiting unknown universes, her bright green chameleon dæmon changing his colours from time to time to match every shift in the tone of her voice. After a bit of prompting, she then proceeded with a detailed description of the path they had to take to get to their destination, which she delivered with broad gesturing and surprising precision.

It was only some time after he had thanked the woman with his customary polite smile, that he noticed a wave of uneasiness coming from his dæmon who, still perched on his shoulder, was currently shifting his light weight from one leg to the other.

"What is it, Ari?"

"I had a strange feeling," Aristaeus said after a bit of insistence. "That's all."

Worried by the sudden reticence displayed by his dæmon in aswering such a simple question, Justin turned all his attention to him, stopping on his tracks on the side of the lane.

"Come on, no sense in hiding your gut feelings. You know I always trust you."

"It felt as if ... someone was watching us."      

Justin would have lied if he said he didn't feel the too familiar shiver of cold fear crawling down his back at those words. And yet, he forced himself to keep his composure, straightened his back and resumed walking with perfectly faked confidence.

After all, they still had a few hours to spare before sunset, way more than they needed to make whoever was at their heels lose track of them.

*

Aristaeus flew ahead, as far from him as their bond could allow before starting to hurt.

They had left behind the last anbaric lampposts quite sometime earlier; Justin had nothing to rely on but the white glow of the full moon, which faintly illuminated his surroundings, and the sharp sight of his barn owl dæmon.

Fortunately, the small, wretched-looking slum they were looking for was not too hard to find; as they approached, they noticed how it was completely dark inside, not a single light suggesting that it was inhabited by someone.

"He's not home," his dæmon huffed.

"Maybe he's just sleeping," he answered, not ready to abandon their only possibility of reaching safety just yet.

Justin was still observing the little building, uncertain if he should just knock or wait until the mysterious occupant of the house noticed him standing outside, when his attention was caught by a sudden noise. Then he heard Aristaeus' shout.

"Watch out!"

He hardly had the time to react before all the air was knocked out of his lungs as his back violently hit the wall behind him. He heard the desperate fluttering of his dæmon's wings as he tried to escape the sharp fangs of their assailant's own dæmon, but when he was about to call his name he suddenly realized the cold blade of a knife pressed tightly against his throat, preventing him from letting out even the smallest of sounds. Even breathing had become almost impossible.

It was too dark for him to make out the features of the figure that was now looming over him and for a dreadful moment he thought the Magisterium had hired an assassin with the specific purpose of ending his life in that grim, dirty alley on the outskirts of London. But then, despite the sheer terror he felt at the thoughts racing through his mind, he registered something, something that was definitely _off_. 

No Magisterium member would ever think of ambushing him like that, like a common criminal trying to scare someone into emptying his pockets. Nor would they have tolerated to have such an awful smell upon himself, even if they had been chasing him down for weeks without so much as a single moment of rest. And surely they wouldn't try to kill him right there and then without at least interrogating him about what he had discovered using the alethiometer, would they?

His doubts were confirmed when the man finally spoke, voice low and hoarse, more similar to the deep growl of a feral animal than anything human.

"Been following me, haven't you? How many of you Magisterium scum are there?"

So he was a fugitive too? Justin would have found it humorously ironic, had it not been for the stranger's blatant intention of murdering him. Well, if he was not Magisterium it meant that he could be reasoned with. Or at least he hoped so. 

After all, he needed but a small distraction in order to reach for his hidden gun and turn the tables on his attacker.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, _sir_ ," he managed to say, in a tone that hopefully wouldn't give away how fast his heart was beating in his chest. "In fact, I rather think you are the one who has been following me here."

He realized he made a mistake the instant the blade's edge dug a little more into his skin, drawing blood.

"Don't try that shit with me, you bastard, you're wearing the fuckin' cross!"

"I'm not even surprised by the fact that you didn't notice it is a disguise," Justin quickly retorted. "What if I told you the Magisterium is hunting me down? They've been chasing me for weeks, now, and just as I thought I had lost them, I noticed two men following me as I was getting here. It won't be too long before they find me."

The half-truth seemed to work, as with great relief he felt the pressure on his throat loosen a bit. But he still had to be careful; the blade glinted in the pale moonlight like a warning. He tried to breathe eavenly, before continuing.

"Now, you could begin by letting me and my dæmon go so we can both go our own ways." He paused. "Or, you could kill me now. And discover what the Magisterium will do to you when they see you have murdered someone who looks like one of their men."

After what felt like an eternity of almost complete silence, broken only by the deep growls of the man's dæmon and Aristaeus' shrieks, he heard him spit out a curse and slowly remove the weapon from his throat, but without withdrawing completely.

It was all Justin needed. He reached for the inside of his pocket and drew out his gun, pointing it straight towards his attacker who, taken by surprise, was forced to step back, knife still in hand but lowered. As soon as he was released by the feral dæmon's powerful fangs, Aristaeus flew back on his shoulder - the feelings of his sharp claws digging through his coat's fabric was immensely relieving.

Under the faint light of the moon, Justin could now take a better look at the man in front of him. He was tall, taller than him, with wild strands of hair that could have been brown falling on his face. Metal glistened on the man's face, a whole array of rings pierced through his ears, eyebrows and over the bridge of his nose. What Justin could distinguish of his expression was a mixture of frustration, fear, but, most of all - _rage_.

Justin kept his gun pointed towards his chest, sensing how unpredictable that person could be, and ready to pull the trigger if he let out any sign of aggression.

"I think it's your turn to start talking, now."

"What about your pursuers?" the man hissed.

Justin allowed himself a little smirk. "I lied about that part, sorry. Well, actually, no, not sorry at all."

"You little piece of--"

A loud, horrible sound interrupted his talking, and for some time Justin was incapable of establishing what it was before deciding that, yes, it was _laughter_. Only a few moments later he realized that the voice belonged to the man's dæmon. She had retreated immediatly after letting go of Aristaeus and was now looking up at her human, teeth slightly bared in a display of mockery.

In a sudden fit of frustration, the man kicked at her, but appeared to regret it immediately when he flinched as a wave of shared pain hit him in return.

"Shut up!"

"Oh, come on, you can't tell me that wasn't funny!"

Justin observed their little banter with an eyebrow raised. Their whole reaction to the situation was utterly baffling, and yet there was something oddly intriguing about this man and his brown-furred dæmon. But he had to keep focused.

"Enough, now!" he ordered. "I thought I asked you to talk."

 The man shot a last, venomous look at his snickering dæmon, but eventually complied.

"Listen, I came here to meet the fuckin' world-traveller and it's not like I have much time to waste, alright? If you could put away that gun now--"

Justin looked at him, skeptical. "You tried to slit my throat just a second ago, I have no reason to."

Just as he was about to speak again, an ominous creak accompanied the opening of the slum's door. Both men froze, turning their gaze away from each other and towards the source of the noise. 

Only pitch-black darkness could be seen beyond the door, now slightly ajar. Then a voice was heard, coming from the inside. 

"Leave. Now."


	4. Chapter 4

There was a beat of silence.

"He opens the door, and he tells us to leave. This is sending some contradictory signals, isn't it?" the blond man said.

He sounded relaxed, almost conversational, but the pistol he was holding at arm's length was slightly shaking. Now that was odd. What kind of executioner was that, who let himself get ambushed like a kid? That wasn't up to the Magisterium's usual standards. He studiously ignored how incompetent _he_ had been, too, though Přísloví wouldn't allow him to forget that later.

Giriko shot a quick look towards the dark doorway.  _This_ was his priority, he reminded himself. That blond asshole was just a minor inconvenience.

"Listen, here's what I suggest," he said, passing his knife from hand to hand. "How 'bout you leave  me to  my  own business, and just  _fuck off_ before I get  _really_ angry." 

He shot the young man a grin that showed way too much teeth. To be honest, he almost hoped the guy would be contrary. The prospect of combat, of finally facing an enemy he could hit and tear apart instead of faceless pursuers, was heating him up from the inside,  unfavorable as the circumstances might be. Přísloví at his foot snarled in excitement, as itching for a fight as he was.

The young man tightened his grip on his gun, mouth thinned to a stubborn line.

"It happens that I, too, have business with the world-traveller. I don't really care what you do, but I'm going in."

His owl dæmon let out a fierce shriek, wings defiantly spread.

"What?" Giriko sputtered. "You kiddin' me? What does a shit like you want from Asura?"

"That's my problem."

Was it a deceit to try and find out what Giriko's plans were? It had already been established that man was a damn smooth liar. His face was unreadable, and his dæmon's body language didn't give away much more.

"Well I sure as hell ain't letting you in before me," Giriko growled, and took a few sideways steps towards the barraque, eyes locked on the pistol's muzzle. "Fuck off and come back later."

"Certainly not," the young man snapped in response, and advanced in his direction.

"LEAVE!"

They all flinched as the disembodied voice resonated once again, and Giriko spun on his heels to face the door. A billow of warm, foul hair hit his nose and Přísloví pressed herself against his leg, her thick fur bristled. Giriko felt a deep sense of unease at the sight of the inky darkness behind the door - it was more inscrutable than it had any right to be.

He nervously toyed with his knife, hesitant on how to proceed further, gaze darting back and forth between the entrance and the gun still pointed at his chest.

"Justin. Let's not lose further time," the man's dæmon said. Giriko and Přísloví startled in surprise - the owl's voice was smooth, deep, and very clearly male. No wonder the owl had been so quiet! No one really knew why some persons shared their dæmon's gender, but all sorts of wild theories about it circulated. Even if they had never been proven right, same-gendered dæmons were still uncommon enough to draw attention, and sometimes suspicion. 

The young man nodded to acknowledge the owl's words. "What if," he cautiously suggested, "we put aside our grievances for the time being, and both head in to encounter Asura?"

"So drop the gun," Giriko retorted.

"I'd much rather not."

"Well screw you then," Giriko spat. "I ain't agreeing to that!"

"Oh, but you don't have much of a say in that matter, now have you?" the man smugly pointed out. "I dare say it will work that way:  _I_ keep my gun,  _you_ drop that knife,  _I_ go in and  _you_ go away to do whatever you want." 

He paused, and wrinkled his nose with a mien of disgust. "For example, taking a much-needed bath."

Přísloví hissed and Giriko grabbed her tail just in time to refrain her from dashing forward. But his own blood was boiling in affront, and he had to inwardly yell  _gun, gun, gun_ to keep himself from bashing that bastard's skull in. He wanted to feel bones break beneath his fists so very, very badly - how sad that would end with a bullet in his brain. 

With a hateful glare, he lifted his hand and launched his knife in a flash of metal. It hit the ground with a thump.

The blond stared with wide eyes at where the hilt protruded from the dirt, an inch away from his foot.

"Be grateful it wasn't your throat," Giriko snarled, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Let's go."

And without further ado, he left the moonlit street behind and trudged into the dark barraque, Přísloví at his heel.

*

"Oi, Asura! I want to talk to ya!"

His yell threw strange echoes down the corridor. The barraque was much bigger on the inside than it appeared from the street - the dark hallway went on for several steps, leading to the black entrance of a room. That foul, sweetish smell of decay was stronger in here, permeating the air like perfume.

The silence seemed to deepen, then whispers arose from afar, like the rustle of dry leaves. Giriko couldn't really make out the meaning of the words, but he could have bet they were far from friendly. Was Asura alone in there?

"I've had warmer welcomes," the blond guy murmured behind his back. Giriko sniffed, and took a few careful steps forward. The darkness was deep enough to make him feel blind, and he wished he had brought a lamp with him.

Not sooner had he formulated that thought than lights flamed up left and right from within Manchurian lanterns, plunging the corridor in an oppressive, reddish half-dark. Giriko huffed, unimpressed - he had seen weirder tricks, but he heard the Magisterium man softly gasp behind him, as if lighting lamps from afar was some kind of prodigy. But then most people thought women flying around on pine branches were something special, too.

His gaze fell to the wooden floor and he froze in his tracks.

Přísloví made a small sound of surprise. "Giriko ... That's a ..."

"I know," he whispered. "Shush!"

It had been years since he had seen the kind of symbols that were carved into the floor, but he had never forgotten them. He tried to decipher their meanings - what was that guy trying to invoke?

" _Necromancer_ ," his dæmon lowly hissed, and he nodded, coming to the same conclusions. Maybe Asura was indeed qualified to help them defy the aberrations looming in the fog, if he held knowledge of such arcane arts.

Behind him the Magisterium man made an impatient noise, and pushed Giriko aside to walk past him - Giriko's hand reflexively shot forward to grab the back of his coat. "Don't step on that," he warned.

"Don't touch me!" the blond exclaimed, swivelling in his tracks, his pistol almost poking Giriko's nose. In that lighting Giriko could suddenly discern his face in more details: he had regular, defined features, handsome like a classical sculpture, even if his stern expression of mistrust undermined it some. His skin was fair, smoothed to pale red in the lantern's glow, with just a hint of freckles on the bridge of the nose.

Přísloví mockingly bared her yellow fangs. "Ooooh,  _don't touch me_ ," she sing-sang, aping him. "What's the matter, cumstain, afraid of some rough-housing?"

The man stared at her, flabbergasted, and Giriko rolled his eyes. Príška had always been too blunt, directly addressing humans in a way most dæmons weren't comfortable with. When they were little that had more than once resulted in a sound beating for them, but that had never shut her up, and the habit had only worsened into adulthood. Arachne had seemed to find the wolverine's crudeness endearing, though.

The barn owl on the young man's shoulder cast Přísloví a cold glance. "You are a vile, vulgar creature," he said in that unsettling deep voice. "Move on, Justin," he added to the blond's intention, ignoring the other dæmon's sneer of disdain.

Justin did as told, carefully tiptoeing around the carvings in order not to tread on them, proving he at least owned a brain. Giriko still spent a second regretting he didn't brought a second knife so he could stab that geezer in the back, then followed tracks, walking a large curve around the summoning circle.

The blond stuck his head into the faintly lit room. "Asura?" he called. Then he stilled.

Giriko roughly shouldered him aside, stepping over the threshold, and likewise came to a halt as he took in the sight. The room was dirty and barren, empty if not for broken pieces of furnitures and heavy tapestries shrouding the walls. There was no hearth in sight, but the mouldy air was warm, almost feverish.

A man was cowering in a corner at the far end of the room, wrapped in a bundle of blankets. His face was concealed behind curtains of jet black hair, marred by incongruous white strands. His pale, tattooed hands hovered close to his mouth, little clicking sounds revealing he was biting his fingernails, and his dæmon -

There was something wrong with his dæmon.

The scorpion was enormous, the size of an adult's hand - but it was laying on its back at the man's feet, motionless, its tail drawn in and looking, by all accounts ...  _dead_ . 

Dæmons didn't die. Dæmons disappeared. The corpse of a living, breathing, nail-biting person's dæmon was as unthinkable as someone surviving his own beheading.

Giriko stared at the inanimate scorpion with revulsion, Přísloví pressing herself to his leg like she wanted to fuse with his pants, and felt goosebumps spread on his forearms. He looked to the side to see the Magisterium man had a white-knuckled grip on his cross-pendant, and looked as horrified as Giriko felt. What was going on here?

The clicking sound paused.

The man in the corner cackled, the sound strident and high-pitched like shattering glass, and grinned, too wide. He extended a skeletal hand and snipped.

"Vajra," he said.

A violent tremor went through the scorpion. Its tail twitched spasmodically - Giriko let out a sigh of relief, feeling as if the world just tipped back into its hinges. The dæmon rolled over to its feet, and scuttled towards the man, disappearing into a blanket fold. Asura started chewing on his fingernails again without paying attention to the two strangers in the room, although his unsettling grin didn't falter. Resurrecting his dæmon appeared to have been a mere courtesy towards his visitors.

All in all, the scene had maybe lasted a few seconds. Giriko was certain he'd never be able to etch it out of his brain.

Justin cleared his throat. "Are you Asura, the world-traveller the people have been talking about?" His tone was level, but there was an undercurrent of strain to it - he was clearly shaken, and Giriko could relate.

Asura's grin stretched impossibly further, threatening to rip his face apart. He cackled again, and Giriko felt animosity rear in his guts. What that bastard making fun of them?

"What do the people say?" Asura finally said from behind his dark hair.

Giriko and Justin exchanged a look. Something had shifted in those few seconds of shared repugnance, an immediate understanding that Asura was more alien and anathema to them than they could ever be to each other; for now, the little nod the blond gave him was as good as a tacit peace declaration.

Giriko began. "They say, Lord Asriel has opened a path to new worlds, up in the North. That there was a city in the sky beyond Svalbard before the fog set in, and you could walk up to that city."

"They say, strange creatures have been sighted in the fog," Přísloví continued. "The like of which no one had seen before."

The barn owl took over, intuitively falling into the same slow speech flow. "They say, no one who went in came back. That the atrociously mangled corpses of voyagers have been washed ashore."

Everyone had heard those stories, as if the northern wind had carried them over to Brytain on its icy wings. It had been a little over a month since Giriko had first got a whiff of those fantastic tales, but with Arachne's death and everything that had happened since he hadn't spared them much thought at first.

"But rumour has it that you've been there," the Magisterium man finished. "That you went to the other world, and came back to tell the tale."

That is, until this last bit of information had found its way to his ears. Suddenly there had been a concrete possibility of escaping the Magisterium and the Gorgon clan, a way out,  _hope_ \- and it all boiled down to what that strange man would tell them. 

There was a moment of expectant silence, the sultry air seeming to congeal around them like jelly. Then Asura giggled. He nestled his face in his long fingers, the eyes tattooed on the back of his hands staring at them, and broke into a fit of shrill, maniacal laughter that went on and on.

Was it despair, was it amusement? Giriko didn't care - he had had enough. He stomped forwards and crouched in front of the man, grabbing two fistful of old blankets and giving a hard shake.

"Don't you waste my fucking time, you piece of shit," he seethed. "Is it true or not?!"

Asura finally glanced up at him, and his red-rimmed eyes looked too old for his face, two ancient, lacklustre stubs of coal that dimly returned Giriko's look. There was another, vertical eye tattooed in the middle of his forehead, and Giriko had a hard time not to gape at its unblinking pupil.

"It's all true," Asura smiled, his voice sounding almost sane. "I went to the foreign world. Found what I was searching. And came back." His eyes slowly darted sideways, as if they followed an invisible interlocutor, then focused back on Giriko. "But you ... You seem positively  _burning_ to go there. Why is that?"

"The fuck does it matter to you?" Giriko retorted. "I want to, is all. How do I survive the passage?"

Asura cocked his head, gaze calculating. "But why should I tell  you ?" he mused, slow and deliberate. 

"If you didn't want us to come in, you wouldn't have opened that door," Justin pointed out. "There's something you want from us. Something we could do for you. Am I correct?"

"Clever boy," Asura purred. "You," he then told Giriko without any particular inflection. "Let go of me."

When Giriko didn't comply the man snipped, and a sudden prickling sensation spread through the tips of Giriko's fingers and up to his elbows, like the bite of tiny ants - then it grew in intensity, pinpricks of pain so blazingly hot he let out a shout and jerked back. The pain was gone as soon as he released his hold on the blanket, and he fell hard on his ass, stupefied. Well  _that_ was new. Přísloví stirred nervously. 

"Ignore him," the blond said with an exasperated huff. He squatted a few steps on Giriko's right, his gaze intent. "What do you want in exchange for your information? And how can you guarantee its veracity?"

Asura tapped at his teeth with the nail of his thumb with a contemplative expression. "What I want, what I want ..." His voice lowered to indistinct murmurs, pausing at odd moments as if he was carrying a conversation with an invisible third party. Then he glanced up and gave Giriko and Justin a once-over, properly looking at them for the first time since they entered that room.

"Yes ... yes, this could work," Asura quietly said, and nodded to himself, eyes narrowing to a mere slit. "It is fate that brought you both to me. She has ... curious ways, at time, but I always get what I want from her in the end. One just needs to know how to read her meanderings ... but  _you_ know all about that, don't you?" He directed a sharp glance towards the Magisterium envoy, who flinched. 

"Yes, truly, it was meant to be," Asura went on with the hint of a smile. "Very well. I shall disclose my endeavors to you." He leaned back, wrapping the blankets tighter around himself.

"I have walked this earth for a long time, studied the arcane arts, but nowhere what I looked for was to be found," he droned, eyes lost in the distance once again. "But all this time ... all this time it was in another world."

"What were you looking for?" Justin asked, rocking forward on the ball of his feet, mesmerized. The owl's eyes were gleaming like onyx marbles.

Asura shot him a chilling glance. "The end of death."

Přísloví snorted in derision, and Giriko grimaced, agreeing with her. Well, fuck. He had placed his hopes in a nutty megalomaniac!

"So you found ... the end of death," the blond slowly stated. "But you still came back to good old Earth."

One of Asura's pale hands shot up to his hair, knuckles whitening with the strength of his grip. "To execute my plan I need ... an object," he hissed through clenched teeth. "An artefact, that has been hidden for centuries, here on Earth. Once I have it ... Nothing will stop me any more." He slowly exhaled, calming down, and looked up to his visitors. "If you help me retrieve it, I will lead you through the fog, and protect you from its dangers."

Giriko and Justin exchanged a quick glance, then spoke up at the same time.

"What artefact?"

"Why d'ya need our help for that?"

"My voyage has ... weakened me ... " Asura said with a humorless chuckle. "I need to preserve my remaining strength for the journey back, and to fight off the spectres. I cannot fulfil this quest on my own."

"The  _what_ ?" Přísloví murmured, but Giriko shushed her with a hand gesture. 

"As to the object you will be seeking ... it is called the box of Pandora."

Giriko looked over to the Magisterium smart-ass to see if he recognized that name, but he looked as puzzled as Giriko was.

"What does it do?" Justin asked.

"Where do I find it?" Giriko added.

"Its powers shall not interest you. Just be aware that it mustn't be opened, at any cost. Its exact location is unknown to me, but its owner is familiar, and by all probability is to you too." He paused, his smile gaining a sardonic edge. "It's in the hands of the College of Theological Historiography."

Justin groaned, and Giriko grimaced, equally displeased. He wasn't familiar with that organization in particular, but it was obviously affiliated to the Magisterium. Which was still very intent on seeing Giriko dead. That ... didn't sound like a good deal at all.

"Shit," Přísloví muttered. He scratched her furry head, silently reconsidering their options.

The blond pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "Correct me if I'm wrong. You are asking us to retrieve an artefact from the Magisterium, which, I presume, they are not willing to sell. Ergo, you are asking us to steal it. All on the possibly empty promise that you are able to securely lead us to the other world."

"Yes," Asura levelly said.

"And you don't even know where the box is kept," Giriko added. "Could be in Geneva, or New Denmark or some shit!"

"No, it's probably in London," Justin intervened. "The College resides in the Bunyan House, over in Holborn, and that's where they display their collection of antique curiosities. But still, to rob from the Magisterium ..."

He exchanged an anxious look with his dæmon, and Giriko had the sudden urge to brag.

"Well it's not  _that_ difficult," he drawled. "Done it before, could do it again, eh, Príška?"

Truth was, it had been an incredibly risky affair and he had almost gotten caught three times over. But Arachne had been very satisfied with the outcome, so all in all it had been worth it.

Justin raised a dubious eyebrow at him, but then he turned back to Asura with a haughty sniff. "Alright," he said. "Let's suppose we manage to find that box, and don't get arrested or executed in the process. What happens then?"

Asura rummaged through his blankets, then tossed them a silvery medallion, that Justin snatched out of the air. Good reflexes, that kid.

"When it's done, press the button in the middle of this. I'll contact you soon after."

It had the sound of finality to it, and Giriko and Justin slowly stood up, exchanging another wary nod.

"Anything else you might want to tell us?" Justin asked.

Asura tossed them a little leather pouch, and this time Giriko caught it.

"Use this in case of emergency. You know what to do with that, don't you?" Asura said at Giriko's address. He looked at the embroidered symbols, and nodded; one word of power and he would release the  djinn trapped within the pouch. It was a fairly common gimmick.

"Then be on your way. I'd advise you to be discreet."

They nodded and retreated towards the door - Giriko felt oddly groggy from the suffocating heat, refraining to stagger.

"And don't open the box," Asura called after them.

Giriko cast one last look over his shoulder, and spotted the scorpion dæmon, scuttling in their direction - then there was a snip. The scorpion crumpled, and laid still.

Giriko hastened.


End file.
